The cycle was a relentless, soul-crushing loop.
For seven days, the routine was identical. Mokshit would wake to the soft glow of the ceiling crystals, brush the sleep from his eyes, and eat a breakfast that—while delicious—tasted more like ash with every passing morning. The Infinite Archive, which had first appeared as a wonderland, had become a labyrinthine prison.
Every day was a repeat of the first failure. Mokshit and Nikhil would spend their allotted hour sprinting through the aisles, their hands grasping at empty air where the indigo glow of the books teased them. Every day, the one-hour mark would pass, the books would vanish, and the "Bear-Man" and the "Architect" would be led out to the balcony to meditate under the sun.
And every day, the distractions became more creative.
Day 3: Jessy tried to see how many pebbles she could stack on Mokshit's head before he moved. (The answer was twelve). Day 5: Misty spent three hours braiding tiny, neon-colored ribbons into Nikhil's ears while he tried to visualize the "Geometry of Space." Day 7: The children began a game of "Extreme Tag" that involved jumping over the teenagers' crossed legs and occasionally using Mokshit's shoulders as a stepping stone.
Through it all, Satoshi watched. He sat on a floating stone chair, sipping tea, his face a mask of calm. Inside, however, he was chuckling. He saw the veins bulging in Mokshit's neck. He saw the way Nikhil's pen snapped in his hand. He knew the pressure was building, and he knew that for a volcano to erupt, it first had to be sealed tight.
THE BREAKING POINT
On the eighth morning, the sun rose over the underground paddies, but the mood in the dining hall was toxic. Mokshit hadn't touched his porridge. His eyes were bloodshot, staring at the table.
"The books aren't there," Nikhil muttered, his voice trembling with a week's worth of repressed fury. "They aren't invisible. They're gone. We're wasting time. Every second we sit here eating honeyed bread, the Celestial Order is moving. They're searching the villages. They're finding the survivors."
Satoshi didn't look up from his tea. "Patience is a form of courage, Nikhil. Perhaps the books aren't hiding. Perhaps you are simply too loud to see them."
"Too loud?" Mokshit slammed his hand on the table. "We've been sitting in silence for sixty hours this week! We are being treated like children! We are being poked and prodded by nine-year-olds while my parents' souls are trapped in a nightmare!"
Satoshi finally looked up. His gaze was icy. "Go to the training balcony. Now."
The meditation session that followed was the shortest on record.
Within ten minutes, Jessy had approached Mokshit with a feather, intent on tickling his nose. Misty was behind Nikhil, preparing to paint his fingernails with berry juice.
"ENOUGH!"
Mokshit erupted. He stood up so fast he nearly knocked Jessy over. His face was flushed red, his fists clenched. "Get away from us! This isn't a game! We aren't your toys! Do you have any idea what's happening in the real world? People are dying! My village is a graveyard! And you're playing with ribbons?"
Nikhil stood up too, his breathing ragged. "Master Satoshi, we can't do this. We are getting the same treatment every day and losing our focus. These kids are a barrier. We came here to get stronger, not to play babysitter."
Behind them, Rohan and Meera stood up as well. Their faces were equally grim. Even though Satoshi had been helping them with their physical bodies, the lack of "magical" progress was starting to make them feel like they were falling behind.
THE LESSON OF THE RIPE FRUIT
Satoshi appeared on the balcony without making a sound. He stood between the frustrated teenagers and his wide-eyed, startled children.
"Why are you frustrated?" Satoshi asked, his voice deceptively soft.
"Because nothing is moving!" Mokshit shouted. "I can't feel the Earth! I can't find the book! We're stagnant!"
Satoshi sighed and walked to the edge of the balcony, looking out over the underground waterfall. "Stay calm and understand the complications. You want the end result, but you refuse to respect the process. Remember one thing: those who gain power fast, lose it even faster. It burns bright and leaves only ash."
He turned to look directly at Mokshit. "You had 25% of the Nature Spirit. It came to you in a flash of light and anger. And where is it now? It's gone. Because you didn't have the roots to hold it. You were a 'Fast Power' user. And now you are a hollow man."
"We need to be ready for the Celestials!" Rohan argued, stepping forward. "They'll find this place!"
Satoshi's aura shifted. The air in the library suddenly grew heavy, like the atmosphere before a massive thunderstorm. The books on the shelves rattled. The floor beneath them vibrated with a low, terrifying hum.
"Impatient brats!" Satoshi's voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of the mountain. "I have told you: Impatience kills the aim! If you want a ripened fruit from a raw seed, you need consistency, right understanding, and self-exploration. You look for power in books, but power is in the dirt you are currently standing on!"
He stepped closer, his eyes glowing with an ancient, brown light. "And as for the Celestials? They will not find this place. And even if they do, they would not dare enter. I have the power to repel and win against anything they send, because my roots go deeper than their heaven. But you? You would die in seconds."
He turned to Krusal, who was watching from the doorway, his gold watch glinting.
"Krusal! Make the ground ready for a battle. If these 'warriors' want progress, let them earn it. We will have a match between my children and these impatient brats."
Satoshi looked back at Mokshit, a challenge in his eyes. "Win against them, and then you may ask me about 'getting power fast.' Until then, you will keep your mouths shut and your minds open."
THE FIELD OF BATTLE
Serena appeared at the edge of the training ground, a radiant, knowing smile on her face. She looked at Satoshi with a mixture of pride and excitement. "It has been nearly a year since our children have had anyone to play with in the circle, hasn't it, Satoshi?"
"Too long," Satoshi replied, his anger replaced by a sharp, competitive edge.
Nikhil and Mokshit followed Krusal down to the subterranean ground. Despite their anger, they couldn't help but be stunned by the structure of the arena. It was a massive circle of white sand, surrounded by floating platforms of rock and streams of flowing water that defied gravity, looping into the air before falling back into ponds.
"The rules are simple," Satoshi announced, standing on a high ledge with Serena and Krusal. "Mokshit, Meera, Rohan, and Nikhil—you four are a team. My three children—Brook, Misty, and Jessy—are the other."
Rohan looked at the three kids. Brook was thirteen, Misty was eleven, and Jessy was nine. "You want us to fight... children? Master, we don't want to hurt them."
Satoshi laughed, a sound that sent a chill down Mokshit's spine. "Hurt them? Young Vanguard, I would be more worried about your dignity."
Brook stepped into the center of the ring, cracking his knuckles. He wasn't holding a wooden sword anymore. He was holding a staff made of living iron-wood. Misty and Jessy stood beside him, their playful giggles replaced by a terrifyingly focused silence.
Misty reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of blue seeds. Jessy picked up a small pouch of pebbles.
"The match begins... now," Satoshi commanded.
Mokshit stepped forward, his heart pounding. He had no power, no vines, and no 25%. He looked at his friends, then at the three children standing opposite them. He thought this would be easy.
He was dead wrong.